Today is a day that I wish I was married. Today I need someone to hold me, at least, I think I do. Perhaps this is just one more lesson in becoming stronger. Today, though, I would like to be held...so I could cry a little bit...selfish as it is. Wasn't sure about how to get home, so I pulled into a truck stop. Messed with the internet to get directions, got them backed up the car, moved forward...into a low 2 foot pole. Broke the radiator. The familiar scent of radiator fluid pouring onto the ground.
No more driving. One hundred and thirty seven miles from home. I was ashamed that I cried. What a foolish thing to do. The truck stop thermometer said 105 degrees. The bathroom was the dirtiest one I had seen in the last ten years...twenty years...inside, the smell of stale smoke and rows and rows of slot machines. Where did I just end up? More importantly: why?
I sat in the heat for as long as I could, waiting for the tow truck. Now that outrageous sum of money I was paying for car/home insurance made sense. Yes, they told me, I was a good customer. They would get a tow truck to take me all the way home...two hours each way for the tow driver.
I thought about what I knew about tow truck drivers. Suddenly I was scared. I had to remind myself that I preferred to drive alone, that I liked to travel alone...that this was my life. I chose it. And a stupid accident was far less damaging than being hit on the road. I prayed that the person who I had to ride with would be reasonable. I prayed that I would be a good rider. But inside me, I was still feeling sorry for myself.
Today is a good day to do the examen. Monetarily, I hate spending anything that I did not plan. But I was not hurt. Again and again, my memory of the father who went through a flashing light, thinking all sides were red just kept pushing in on my brain. He killed his only daughter. He loved her so much. And she was gone. And I have a broken radiator. I will not get to go to Mass today. Or tomorrow morning. How very small are my problems!
But, in the examen, I look at my day, my week...and I have no right to be upset. My dreams last night were so vivid! I dreamed of my fictional heroes: Patrick Stewart (Capt. Jean-Luc Picard) and William Shatner (Capt. Kirk). A long time ago, I dreamed that I helped Patrick Stewart die...and that dream pleased me so much, I knew that God had created me to be a death coach. Sounds horrid, doesn't it? "Death coach" was the term that came to me. I was born to help others die well. And I knew I was good at it. This dream last night, was not about Patrick Stewart's death, but about William Shatner's death. Only he didn't die. I was there to let him talk about all the things that worried him. It was so strange. Then, my home priest, Fr. Bruce, was with me in a magnificent mansion. He was doing a funeral, and I was there helping, but I didn't know the person who had died. Then my Aunt Dell showed up, wearing a wig. (She died in 2006) She was there to tell me that she was happy. She was laughing and told me to be happy. Then she took off the wig...and the dream went on, but I don't remember more now. But it stayed with me when I woke.
What was the purpose? What was I supposed to learn? Clearly, the strength of the dream was important.
I was so very sad that the trip was over. The week with my son, his wife and my grandchildren went by all too fast. And there were times my patience was much too short. I can handle two children, but five...all needing things at the same time...that was hard. I felt not too much like a good grandmother, but again, I know God wanted me there. I had a purpose, even if I didn't really understand it.
Why did I need to see the mountains, the starry nights and the stormy nights? Why the elk? Why the little Catholic Church? Why the consolations? Were those good things given so that I could do today without too much pain? I wonder if God worries about such little things.
Just remembered the potatoes on the stove. They taste very good. A priest gave them to me. That makes them taste better. And more comforting. I need a little comfort food right now.
So the driver of the tow truck was younger than my youngest child. He had four children, the oldest was nine. And he had a story to tell me, one that lasted all of the two hours. Poverty and suffering, some by choice, some just happened. We talked about life and death. How he dealt with the deaths he had to face so far, and the next two, which will be very hard for him. We talked about raising children, and raising adopted children and how he rescued one from a very dark evil...and part of me had a difficult time just listening to it...and I will be writing about it, I'm sure, in the future.
And there was so much story that was not told. He said many people he had to drive home were very unruly. They were so angry about their car trouble. I told him I was upset, and that I might cry, but I never did. I knew that if I could get him to tell me his story, it was a better use of my time. I can cry now...that I am home. But as I write, I do not feel the need to cry anymore.
Did I help him, this stranger, through a darkness he held in his heart? Was that the real reason I stupidly plowed into a two foot cement post? I took what could have been a dreadful day and I turned it into a blessing.
Was it because of the strange dream? Was it because of the beautiful week with my son and his family? Was it because of the healing power of the mountains? Perhaps.
Or the sermon I listened to on AM radio, driving the plains near Amarillo...mesmerized me...without question Methodist theology, filled with grace and warning against allowing the RULES of the Bible become more important than leading a compassionate life. It was all about Ezra, and how the people became so distressed when they realized how much they had sinned and they wept. Ezra said do not weep, but celebrate the Lord's day. Do not be sad on this day! And then the preacher went on, something about "how good it is to know the joy of the Lord." (I am writing it wrong, I think) He said it is not our joy that we rest in, but rather the Lord's joy, His pleasure, in creating us. I listened carefully, not noticing the road much at all. Found out it was the FUMC of Lubbock. Bet I can get a copy of the sermon. I liked it very much. I remembered again why I wanted to become a Methodist minister: because of the theology of grace Wesley wrote about. That the rules were there to warn us, to help us, but never to condemn us. And when the church service was over, my radio could not receive the station any longer. Suddenly, I found I was getting stations from Fort Worth. I would not have listened to the radio had my CD player not broken in my car two weeks before.
Lucky.
What could have been seen as a negative, was instead a tool by which God changed my heart...which must have needed a good wash...and then graced me with the chance to offer grace to someone else.
There is much more to say, to write, to think about...and to pray about...but this is enough for now. I have extra expenses and inconveniences in front of me. I will need the help of my friends. In fact, I chose one woman...for some reason...to pray for me in this mess. I'm not sure why I chose her, but I have faith in her prayers...and I am grateful.
We aren't meant to always walk alone. I had to rely on a ride from a stranger, I had to wait in a terrible place, hot and scary. I had to cry a little. But what seemed like a bad thing, might not have been bad at all. Perhaps God saved me from an worse accident by giving me a little one. Sometimes God will take away a good thing to bring us something better.
I think that was what I was supposed to write about today. What looks like darkness...was only the shade of His hand, outstretched caressingly (cf. The Hound of Heaven)...wanting me to seek Him...surrender to Him...to let Him satisfy me...to let Him love me...that I might love others...and myself...better.
If you have had a challenging day, look to the blessing within it. I promise it is there.
Love, Cindy
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